


Before We Go

by novadeity



Category: Before We Go (2014), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romantic Fluff, and a LOT of easter eggs, there's a cat named ultron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:05:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6522907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novadeity/pseuds/novadeity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rich husband gets his wallet stolen in New York. He receives help from a stranger to get back home. One night will change his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before We Go

"Shit!" He cursed under his breath as he sped past the terminal in Grand Central. Beyond caring about his dead phone, his sneakers echoed on the marble floor of the mostly empty hall, earning glares from the cleaning crew and security alike. At this hour, Grand Central Station wasn't it's usual beacon of activity, it was a desolate and slightly depressing refuge for last minute stragglers, such as himself.

One man, well built with a beard and parka, was packing up a handheld instrument against the wall where the lights were beginning to go out. Bucky began to panic. The man gave him a comical look, and  Bucky shot him a dirty one.  He then tripped over the steps up to Hall C in his rush and dropped his phone, shattering it.

Bucky didn't hear his phone drop. He was already in Hall C, skidding to a halt in front of the terminal with the dimming lights and the exasperated worker.

"Please," he breathed, digging through his pockets, "I have my ticket. I need to get—"

"Sir, we're closed. We'll be open tomorrow at 6:30. You can come back then."

Bucky was ready to cry. He needed to get home, and he needed to get home soon. "No, there has to be another train earlier than 6:30, I'm only a little late, you have to have something! My wallet was stolen, I don't have my ID but—"

The worker looked annoyed as he walked out from behind his terminal and began to close the gate. Bucky began sweating under his coat, clutching his train ticket to his chest.

"You're outta luck, pal. Come back tomorrow. We're closed."

Bucky wasn't a crier, but he was pretty close to crying in that moment. He needed to get home before 6:30 tonight, and a train at 6:30 tomorrow wouldn't do. He needed to get home before his husband saw the letter.

As all the lights began to dim, the final stragglers inside the station were ushered outside. This included two disheveled looking lawyers who walked away in heated discussion over a case, a woman with a pretty nose and a black leather jacket who hailed a cab, the man with the instrument case, and Bucky. Bucky buttoned his coat, and patted his pocket for his phone.

"Are you—fucking!" He twisted around violently, searching his other pockets, his hair falling from its once neat ponytail into his eyes. He was stranded in New York, without a wallet, with no way home, and now his phone was gone.

Someone approached him from behind, running down Grand Central's outer steps. It was the man who had laughed at his misfortune earlier, the one with the instrument. Bitterly, Bucky couldn't help but think that at least he wasn't playing an instrument for money in Grand Central. It was then that the shattered remnants of his smartphone in the stranger's gloved hand caught his eye and his heart simultaneously rose and fell in his chest.

"Hey, pal, I was callin' out to you. Ya dropped this," the man smiled, his arm outstretched.  Bucky took his phone reluctantly, without making eye contact. This was embarrassing.

"Hey... you okay, buddy? You don't look so good."

Bucky scoffed, turning away from the bearded guy. Nothing is fucking okay.

"Why do you care?"

Instrument and navy parka squinted his eyes. "Just tryin' to help, pal."

"Yeah, well, I need to be home by morning, and I missed my train. Unless you're offering a ride, fuck off." Bucky instantly regretted his words. He knew they had been harsh, but he was running on coffee and alcohol and he was pissed.

"Sorry. I'm just in a bad situation, and I need to get home," he sighed, and began to hail a cab.

"I need to get to Boston," Bucky huffed as the cab driver pulled up. The driver looked at him like he had grown wings. "That will be over one thousand in fare, and no way in hell am I drivin' across the states for one guy unless he can pay."

Bucky swore. "On second thought, I'll walk. I lost my wallet."

The driver looked skeptical. "To Boston? Are you fuckin' crazy?"

Bucky felt pressure on his shoulder. "I can pay for him," said the stranger from the steps.

The cab driver scoffed. "Like hell you can."

The stranger sagged a bit behind Bucky. "Okay. You're right. I have about ninety dollars on me. But look at this guy. He's obviously got somewhere to be in a big hurry, and I'm sure he'll cut you a big check when he gets there."

Bucky was livid. He didn't need this man's help.

"No, I'll walk." He backed away, and stared intently in the stranger's eyes. He will not accept pity. Not today, not on the worst day of his life.

"Are you kidding? You just said you had to be in Boston—"

"I'll fucking walk. Leave me alone." Bucky shooed the cab driver away, and began to walk south at a brisk pace, not looking back. This was going too far.

This morning he had flown in from his sister's house in DC. He was in New York to buy a painting for his gallery, and he had also left a letter for his husband on his bed that essentially meant the end of his marriage. Bucky had found out Brock was sleeping with another man, their boss in fact, and he had tried to not do the brash thing. His friend Natasha even helped him write the letter. But now, second thoughts were gripping him and he needed to get home. He needed to save his marriage.

Bucky, absorbed in his thoughts, took a sharp turn down a bad alley and ran into a group of three men.

"Well, what do we have here?"

Bucky kept his head down and rushed past. The men started laughing, a harsh and guttural sound that irritated his ears.

"Hey, fag, come back here! We ain't done with you yet—" He heard footsteps and began to panic.

"Hey, sweetheart," a soft voice said, as a strong arm slipped around his shoulders. It was the stranger from the station. He had a grin on his face and Bucky was glad he looked so physically intimidating. He glanced back, and saw the three men glaring and cursing under their breath. They couldn't win a fight against this monstrosity of a man.

They walked down the entirety of the block, laughing at a nonexistent joke until they finally joined a street with other pedestrians. Safety. The man dropped his arm, but kept pace with Bucky.

Bucky was amazed. Nobody was this kind without wanting something.

"I—thank you. You didn't need to do that," he said lamely, stuffing his hands in his pocket. The man readjusted his instrument on his back, and gave a small but polite smile.

"No trouble. You didn't look alright so I hope you don't mind that I followed you." The stranger stopped under a store display, the colorful array of light bulbs and books behind him, and the city's noises filling the air between the men with a comfortable familiarity.

"You saved me back there, so I can forgive you for being a little creepy," Bucky laughed, halting beside him. He held out his hand and they shook firmly.

"Steve. Nice to meet you," the man said.

This was the first time Bucky really stopped to look at him. He was tall, around 6'1" at least. He had kind features, the kind someone's older brother would have, with an accompanying smile and a slowly growing auburn beard. With a strong jaw and an obviously impressive physique, Bucky was a little bit awed. He was gorgeous. Not that I'll give this guy the satisfaction of knowing that, he thought quickly, eyeing his instrument case. What if it wasn't an instrument in there? What if this guy was a drug trafficker? Or a rapist?

Bucky hesitated before giving his name in return. This man—Steve—was an unknown variable. Sure, he had given him his phone back, but a fat lot of good that would do him. It was broken, and he still didn't have his wallet. He needed to approach this cautiously. He needed to get home.

".... I'm Bucky."

"Bucky? Well, nice to meet you, Bucky."

Steve smiled, releasing his grip. The two men continued their solemn path, staring at their feet. Bucky knew he was shorter than Steve, but if this man tried to touch him, he could land a solid few punches in. They were roughly the same size, minus the height difference.

"So, any clue where we can start?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Bucky was taken aback.

"Looking for your wallet. You, uh, said you lost it. Know where?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. A bar, a few hours ago. I was ordering another beer and went to pay. Saw the asshole next to me slipping out with my wallet. Tried to chase him, lost him in a crowd. I tried to get to the train station and, well, you know the rest."

Steve offered a stiff laugh. "Which bar?"

"Called VALKYRIE, downtown. I can go on my own from here, you know."

They approached a streetlight and pressed the crossing button. As they crossed, Steve eliminated all hope of exiting this situation.

"After hearing what those guys yelled at you? Not a chance. Plus, that's near where I'm goin'."

"Okay."

"Okay. Downtown, that's south. Ready to follow me into the jaws of death?" Steve quipped. Bucky snorted.

"I wouldn't be that dramatic. Plus, You sound like you're from Brooklyn. Not that bad of an area, Steve."

Having been there a few hours earlier, the bartender looked dazed to see Bucky stroll through the grimy door again.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah," Steve said, stepping forward. "My friend here lost his wallet a few hours ago. Said he last saw it here. I know some of you around here know where missing items go for a fee…”

Bucky stood back, his mouth slightly ajar. Watching Steve convince this man to give up the perpetrator was strange. It was a skill he never would have thought was needed, but soon enough an address was given, the bartender paid, and the men left with a new destination in mind.

"How the hell did you know he would know who took it?" Bucky asked, once they were a few blocks away. This guy was continuing to surprise him.

"Bad part of town. I know how those guys work. Wanna go get your wallet? It's close to this party my friend Sam is having. And I'm out of your hair if you want, after this. I swear."

As they set off, Bucky began to wonder. Why wasn't this guy at a party? What the fuck?

"Playing in Grand Central instead of partying, Steve? You don't seem the type."

Steve grimaced. "Someone I don't want to see there. And it's a trumpet. I know, the curiosity was killing you." It was Bucky's turn to laugh at that.

"I didn't know people still played the trumpet. Who are you avoiding?"

"I didn't know people still played other than me, either. I'm in town for an audition with a band, actually. I was as shocked as you are. And... an ex something. What brings you to New York, Bucky?"

"Work. I was buying a painting for my boss. The ex something have a name?"

"Peggy. We dated a long time ago. Why do I get the feeling that isn't the only reason you're in New York?"

"Why do I get the feeling you're ex military?" He had struck a nerve. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's fine. Honorable discharge. This is our stop. There's a safe diner a block down, wait for me there. Anything distinctive about the wallet that will help me recognize it?"

They had arrived in front of a graffiti covered apartment building. The building certainly looked sketchy, and Bucky didn't want this guy to get hurt because of him. He gave Steve a look, but reading his mind, Steve persisted.

"The wallet?" he said with raised brows.

"It has JBB scratched into the leather. Steve Madden. Take your coffee black?" Bucky realized his mistake after he said it. He just told this man Bucky wasn't his real name. Or first name, at least.

Steve stared at him. "JBB? Why JBB?”

Bucky rubbed his temple. "My name is James Barnes, I scratched it into the leather so I could identify it easier, same as you. I'm sorry, Steve—"

Steve rolled his eyes, handing Bucky ten dollars. "When I get back, we're really going to have to work on our communication, Mr. Barnes." With that, he disappeared inside.

Bucky ordered coffee at the diner and waited. Two minutes turned to ten. He began to worry. Steve strolled in casually moments later with blood streaming from his nose, obviously having been punched.

"Shit, Stevie," Bucky muttered as he whistled to the waitress to bring out some napkins and something cold. He pressed the bag of peas to Steve's face as they sat down in a booth. "What the fuck happened?"

"It was in my sights. I tried to grab it but these guys weren't the friendliest types," he tried to smile but ended up wincing, stuffing his nostrils with napkins to attempt to stem the blood flow. "Nice license picture, by the way. James? Really? Why did you tell me it was Bucky?"

Bucky turned beet red. He loved that picture of him on his ID. His hair had been short and slicked back. He looked like he had literally crawled out of the 40s. Not to say he didn't like his style now, of course, but that look had been a good one. "It's 'cause 'James' is a stupid name and I like Bucky more. I didn't lie to you, I was just being—"

"—cautious, yeah. And Bucky really stands for?"

"You don't wanna know."

"Oh, but I do." Steve was giving him a playful look, even through the stuffy nose and bloodied face, and it was making Bucky's stomach turn in a good way.

"Buchanan, like the jackass from The Great Gatsby."

"Or the president." Steve smiled this time, his teeth and lips covered in blood.

"Jesus," Bucky breathed. He dipped a napkin in water and stood up to get a better angle to begin dabbing blood off of Steve's face. Steve grunted at first but accepted Bucky's mother hen-like advances. They both rose from the linoleum table with extra napkins, leaving an immense tip for the unfortunate souls at the diner who had to clean up Steve's bloody tissues once they left.

Bucky noticed with a sickening feeling in his gut that they were almost out of money. They walked up to a payphone and Steve dug around in his pockets for a token. Unable to find one, he got down on all fours and searched the ground.

"Whaddya know?" he marveled as he stood up and slipped the golden token inside the machine.

"Hey, Sam, it's me. I know this sounds crazy, but I need some money. It's an emergency. I'm coming to the party in about an hour, see you then,' Steve rambled off quickly, "Let's hope he doesn't delete his voicemail.”

"Thank you, Steve."

"No, no. Don't thank me yet."

Bucky sighed. "I'm sorry I got you punched. What I really need is a time machine. I wish I could go back and just not have lost my wallet, or not come to New York instead—"

Steve tapped on the top of the phone booth with vigor. "Didn't you get the memo? They turned these old things into time machines a while ago." He proceeded to type in random numbers into the interface with a beeping noise, and Bucky was cracking up. This guy was crazy. Steve held out the receiver to him. "What would you tell yourself?"

Bucky rolled his eyes and strolled to the side of the phone machine, taking the phone from his hands.

"Bucky? Hey. It's me." He looked at Steve and shook his head. "He didn't believe me," he mouthed.

"Tell him something only you'd know."

He turned back to the receiver. "Okay, remember that burn scar you got from that house fire in the eighth grade? The one that you tell people you got in Russia from a skiing accident where they almost had to cut off your arm due to the hypothermia? Yeah? That's how you know this is me."

Steve was practically crying with laughter. "Oh, this is fucking great." Bucky shushed him with a hand.

"The point is, this is you from the future. I want you to not go on that trip to New York. I know that art piece looks really cool, but don't buy it. Just don't. I want you to stay home, call Natasha, and go see that movie you had been talking about. Oh, and when you get to New York? Absolutely, under no circumstances, talk to any tall blonde strangers outside Grand Central." With that, he hung up and stared at Steve.

"Ouch."

"Ouch is right. Your turn."

Steve snorted. "Oh, no. I'm saving my phone call." He began to rub his neck. "Do you want to get a hotel?"

Bucky was taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"Not—not for us, I mean, for you. You need a place to stay, right?" This guy was a full body blusher and Bucky could tell without having to undress him. "I know you don't have money, and I'm almost out of cash, but my friend is nearby and I know he'd let you crash in his hotel room for a night."

Bucky weighed his options. He needed to get home before Brock. "I need to get home."

"Mind if I ask what's in Boston?"

"My husband."

"Ah."

Bucky suddenly became conscious of the fact that he wasn't wearing his ring. He had taken it off and put it on the pillow next to the letter before he left the house. He had been so sure about his decision when he left, but why was he having second thoughts? Brock was cheating on him. He had been for over a year, and Bucky pretended not to notice to keep the marriage together. Natasha, when Bucky finally had the courage the tell her, had convinced him to finally work towards ending it. Wasn't that the right thing to do? Didn't he deserve someone who loved him?

"Your friend would be okay with giving me money to stay the night, at least?" Fuck it. If Brock found the letter, it was the right thing. Natasha was right, and Bucky trusted her judgement. If he could get to a safe hotel and call Natasha, he would tell her where he was. Stay a night in New York, call his sister in the morning, then go back to DC. It would be fine. Right?

"Sam's a great guy. He loves helping people. Yeah, he'd be willing. It ain't far from here."

"You're the Captain."

They took a cab to a nicer part of town to the bar. Steve grew more and more anxious with every block, which was hard to miss, because the guy started shuffling in his seat. The street lights fly past them in the dim cab, and Bucky puts a reassuring hand on the guy.

"Is your ex really that bad?"

They got dropped off two streets over from the bar, some new age place called SHIELD. Steve stopped and rested his hands on his thighs, bending over. He looked like he was going to throw up.

"Steve. Hey. Steve, stay with me."

"I'm... shit, I'm—"

Bucky rubs an arm on his shoulder. Steve, this strong man, this physical marvel, is shaking. He might even have a panic attack.

"What happened with her?"

Steve slips against the brick wall, his head falling in his hands. Bucky sits next to him, rubbing small circles into his back. He wasn't very accustomed to listening but he could try.

"We were together seven years ago. She was… she was beautiful. I," he gave a deep sigh. "I thought things were going well, so I bought a ring. We had been living together for a while. But I had to leave for Iraq."

Bucky knew how stories like these ended. "Steve, I'm—"

"I came back, and she was with another man. His name is Daniel. I bought the ring for nothing." Steve laughed bitterly at the end of this, and carded his hands through his hair. "I don't know if I can do this. I haven't been with anyone since. I've been so focused on my career in the military, and then I got discharged, and it's just been a disaster..."

There was a long silence between them.

"I can pretend to be your boyfriend."

Steve stared. "What?"

Bucky persisted. "She's with someone, so are you. You won't look like that much of a loser, yeah?" He offered a smile, the type he used to reserve for his husband after a hard day at work.

"I—"

"Look. You helped me. Let me help you. I insist."

They stood up, and Bucky patted him on the shoulder. Steve's eyes lingered on him, a bit unsure.

"Okay."

Bucky slipped his hand into Steve's. Steve was still shaking as they walked two streets over to a modern brick building with a bird logo. The windows were large and glass, and there were a lot of people inside. Steve takes a deep breath. Bucky squeezes his hand.

Bucky opened the door, Steve trailing behind him, gripping his hand tightly. The bar was buzzing, and some high class jazz was playing. A smartly dressed man with close shaved hair noticed them enter, and cried out happily across the floor. Making his way over to Steve and Bucky, the man grabbed a beer and placed one in Steve's hand as he arrived.

"Sam," Steve said. "This is Bucky."

Sam glanced at their attached hands, and gave his friend a wink. He held out his own hand and smiled to shake Bucky's. "Sam Wilson. Glad to see Steve's back on the market." He turned back to Steve and grabbed his shoulder. "I thought you weren't coming."

Steve coughed. "I, uh, we need a place to stay the night. It's important." Steve gripped Bucky's hand.

Sam looked like he had been offered the golden ticket. "Holy shi—yeah! Yes. Take my key card. It's yours. Besides, I think I'm going home with Maria tonight."

Steve groaned. "Sam's been hitting on this secretary at his job for months,” he informed Bucky. “Dude, if she said no last week, she's not going to say yes tonight—"

"Ye of little faith. She's ex navy too. Found that out tonight. What about that?" Sam was practically bouncing. This man was very energetic. Bucky liked him.

"Oh, before I forget, here's three hundred. It's all I could get. Nice meeting you, Bucky. Treat my boy right."

He took out his wallet and handed his friend a golden hotel key card and 300 in cash. Bucky tried not to stare. Sam flashed Bucky the same brilliant grin and a wink, and slunk away to another group of friends across the room.

Steve took a gratuitous sip of his beer. "I'm so sorry about that."

Bucky laughed. "I like him. Seems like a great guy. Where can I get a drink in here?" Steve seemed glad to turn and head for the bar, but a few feet forward and he froze solid.

"Steve? Is that you?" a strong female voice with an accent said from behind them.

Bucky was up. He removed his hand from Steve's and slung his arm around his waist. Steve gulped, pure panic in his eyes, and put his arm over Bucky's shoulder. They turned around to face the beast.

The beast was drop dead gorgeous. In a red cocktail dress and tight brown curls, she looked like a walking form of sin itself. This woman was a fucking goddess. Bucky didn't believe in fairy tales, but if Greek gods existed, this woman was Athena incarnate.

She offered her hand to Steve, and he weakly shook it. She was searching his eyes for something, and it was obviously making Steve uncomfortable. Bucky coughed.

"You must be Peggy! Stevie's told me a lot about you." He grinned, and he shook her red lacquered hand. She tore her gaze from her ex and landed on Bucky. Peggy's eyes widened as she saw Steve's arm around him, and she fully understood the situation. She glanced back to Steve.

"Oh? Yes, we're old acquaintances. You are...?"

"Peggy, this is my boyfriend, Bucky. Buck, why don't you go get yourself a drink?"

Bucky sharply squeezed Steve's side to indicate what a bad fucking idea he thought that was. He was not leaving this man to make a fool of himself in front of this powerful woman.

"I'm alright, babe."

"My husband is getting a drink, let me ask him for—Daniel! Darling, bring over another whiskey for Steve's...friend," Peggy called over Bucky's shoulder to the bar. Both men flipped around to see a kind looking man with a soft face ordering two drinks from the bartender. Peggy smiled.

"I didn't know you two got married," Steve said coldly.

"I didn't know you were serious when you said you liked both," she shot back as she sipped her margarita. Bucky was paralyzed. "Tell me, Steve, what brings you to New York?"

"He's auditioning for a band," Bucky interjected, placing a hand on Steve's chest. Fuck, this guy was solid. "You know, trumpet. After the army, I think he found his true calling in music. We actually met at an art gallery!"

Steve was silent and put a brave smile on his face. He turned to look at Bucky. "One night can change your life." Bucky laughed and grinned at Peggy. The woman looked livid.

"Did someone order a whiskey?" Peggy's husband, Daniel, limped to her side and kissed her cheek. She took his hand after he handed Bucky his whiskey. Steve had a blank look on his face but was absentmindedly rubbing circles into the small of Bucky's back.

Peggy whispered something in his ear, and they announced their departure. Bucky took a sip from his drink to hide his victorious smile, and Steve stiffened slightly as he shook Daniel's hand. The couple turned and fled. Finishing his drink, Steve turned to Bucky.

"I'm ready to leave."

"Yeah, let's go."

Steve offered his hand to Bucky again as they crossed the floor to leave the bar. Steve stopped to pat a man named Phil on the back and wish him luck at his new position, introducing Bucky to keep up appearances all the while, and then they were outside. Bucky glanced at Steve to see his brows drawn in thought.

"Steve?"

"It's better, y'know?" he began, sparing Bucky a glance, "Knowing she's happy with him and that we weren't supposed to end up together. It's good."

Bucky remained silent.

"Thank you. She really bought the whole gay thing."

"Excuse me?" Bucky stopped in his tracks, removing his hand from Steve's. He hadn't even realized they were still holding hands.

"I mean, she bought the boyfriend thing! I'm sorry, I have no problem with you being gay, but—"

"But what? You obviously have some problem with it. And for the record? I'm not gay. I'm bisexual, asshole. Thanks for the offer, but I'll be going my own way from here." Bucky stomped off, leaving Steve behind him. He was furious. Steve yelped and ran after him, grabbing his arm. Bucky wrenched it out of his grip, turning on Steve.

"Bucky, wait. No, I'm sorry. I have no problem with you being bisexual. I'm bisexual myself. Peggy hated it about me, felt like she had too much 'competition'. Please, I'm sorry. We have the card," he rambled off, making fierce eye contact with Bucky. This man had eyes as blue as the ocean. "We can get you to a hotel..."

Bucky crossed his arms. "Why do I feel like you're going to say 'or'?"

"...Or we could do something really cool. One more adventure for the night. Yeah?"

That was something Bucky hadn't been expecting him to say. Steve readjusted the instrument on his back and pleadingly stared into Bucky's eyes. Bucky knew his answer before he opened his mouth.

"Fine. But this is because you're a strange man and you're my best ticket to a warm bed and a way home."

"And Sam has a phone in his hotel room. You could use it to call whoever you need to get you home tomorrow."

Bucky was silent. He could call Natasha and ask her to sneak into his house and remove the ring and letter before Brock got home. He could still save his marriage.

"Bucky?" He blinked back to reality. Steve looked concerned. "You alright, pal?"

"Yeah, sorry. What's this thing you had in mind? It has to be super awesome or I'll hold it against you."

Steve relaxed, and they walked in close proximity of one another. "There's this guy called The Vision. He's close by. He does these insane fortune readings and I've been dying to check it out. Why not, right?"

Bucky did his best not to laugh in Steve's face. Fortunes? What kind of supernatural bullshit did this guy believe in?

"Sure, yeah."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"Not really, no."

Steve smirked. "I'll prove you wrong yet, Barnes."

The Vision turned out to be located in a residential area of Long Island, so they took another cab. Steve began to point out all the sights to Bucky, who had never been to the city before. The city was a beautiful place at night. Steve seemed much more relaxed, and he was laughing easier and more freely now. It was nice.

The building they were dropped off at was a large brownstone, with a neon sign in yellow and green leading to the basement apartment. The neon was flashy and had an animated eye. Bucky gave Steve a skeptical look as they knocked on the door.

An eccentric looking man in his late eighties answered. He was dressed like he was still living in the 1970s. He had large red glasses on and a bald head. His shawls were emerald and maroon, and he gave them a kind smile. A cat ran past Steve's leg and the man yelled after it violently.

"Come back here—Ultron! Come back here! Ah, he'll be back. Come in, come in!"

Steve gestured to let Bucky in first. Bucky elbowed him in the rib as he passed and entered the house. The walls were covered with pictures of the Vision and a woman who looked like she could be his wife. The pictures were very old. The Vision shuffled past Steve and Bucky to the living room, and cleared his coffee table, turning his TV off.

"Those are from the early sixties. Wanda was lovely, wasn't she?" he remarked. He slipped into his kitchen and rummaged through cupboards. Steve stared wide-eyed at the posters and memorabilia of fortune telling as Bucky sat down next to him.

"He's eccentric," he whispered, and Steve hit his arm.

"Give him a chance," Steve murmured as Vision reentered the room.

"I put tea on. Now, my speciality is reading pasts and futures. Also, son, I'm sorry about your arm," he said as he entered the room, shawls and all. He sat across from Bucky and Steve, and folded his hands in his lap.

Bucky didn't move. "Pardon?"

The Vision looked sympathetic. "Your arm, son. I know."

Bucky didn't know what to say. There was no way this man could know about the burn scars on his left arm. There was no possible way. He hadn't taken his coat off all night for the fear of it being noticed.

"Bucky?"

"How do you know about that?"

The Vision adjusted his glasses. "I know a lot of things. I'm sorry, I thought your boyfriend would have known. I didn't mean to cause alarm."

Bucky tensed. "You think we...? Oh, no. I'm married." Steve rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"Does your heart know that?"

Bucky stood up. This was fucking ridiculous. "Do you have a phone I can use?" Vision motioned towards his kitchen, and called after him for Bucky to bring in the tea after his phone call. Bucky walked into the kitchen and threw himself against a wall. This was getting him too worked up. He breathed a few times, and picked up the phone. He dialed Natasha's number, and she picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Nat, it's Bucky. I'm still in New York. My phone is broken and I lost my train home."

"Bucky, holy shit—Clint and I have been trying to reach you for hours! What the fuck are you still doing in NY? Brock is home, he's back. He's fucking furious. I've never seen him this mad!"

Bucky felt light headed. "He—he's home?"

"Yes! He came home early, you would know that if you answered my fucking texts—"

"Natasha, do you know if he read the letter?"

"Uh, he came next door and demanded to know where you were. Clint called the police. He's never seen a man look this violent. Whatever you do, you can't go back there, Barnes."

There was a long pause in which Bucky accepted the true end of his marriage. He sat down at The Vision's kitchen table, and sobbed dryly.

"Bucky, I'm sorry—"

"No, it's fine. It's okay. Did I wake the baby when I called?"

"Of course not. Katie’s more resilient than that. When are you coming back?"

"I lost my wallet. I don't know."

"...Shit." Natasha sighed and sounded like she was having a migraine. "Do you need me to fly out there?"

Bucky glanced back towards the living room. Steve was listening intently to Vision, his arms and legs crossed. He looked like a child. His mouth was slightly agape, and his eyes were open huge.

"I think... I'll be okay. I'm going back to Becca's in the morning. I'll call you when I get there. Take care and give Clint and Katie my best."

"Stay safe, Bucky. I hope you know what you're doing."

He hung up the phone. Wiping his eyes, he took the now wailing kettle off of its stove and filled the teapot set aside for it. Steve's hushed tone made Bucky hesitate before entering the room.

"... how you could know?"

"Timelines and alternative realities exist all around us, Steve. All you have to do is know where to look for them. Like I said, in the one that's most prevalent to me, you were serving in World War II, and that man died for you."

Bucky coughed, and brought the teapot in. "What's this about dying?" he jested, sitting next to Steve. The Vision poured the men tea and began to tell them stories of his career as a 'professional'. Bucky and Steve listened intently for the most part, and they left the cozy home hours later with warm bellies. The Vision called after them as they hailed a cab.

"One night can change your life. Don't forget that."

Bucky laughed as soon as they got in the car. Steve smiled at him.

"Having fun yet? Everyone seems to think you're my boyfriend."

"Psh, you wish. Now take me to a hotel, pretty boy," Bucky stage whispered, and Steve clutched his breast as he guffawed. He gave the directions to the cabbie, and they set off. Bucky settled in his seat. The cab driver ignored them.

"If you don't mind my asking," Steve began after a short silence, "Who'd you call?" Steve sat his elbow on the cab window, and gave Bucky an earnest look.

"My neighbor, Natasha. I... before I came to New York, I found out my husband was cheating on me."

Silence.

"How'd you find out?"

Bucky laughed. "My friend, actually. He works with me. He walked in on them."

He digressed. "I thought I should suck it up to save the marriage, but I just couldn't keep living with someone who didn't love me, someone who came home late every night. Brock denied it when I tried to bring it up. And when I brought it up, he was so... angry. I told Natasha and she helped me write a letter."

Steve was listening intently. "What did the letter say?"

"It was filled with all the things I had been dying to say, the things I knew, the mean things, the petty things… I left it on our bed with the ring before coming on this work trip. He was supposed to be coming back tomorrow morning at 6:30," Bucky finished, unaware of the tears leaking from his eyes, "And I was going to go back to fix it, but—"

"—your wallet got stolen and your phone broke," Steve finished with the finality of a man who at last had everything figured out. He looked down at his hands as they fumbled in his lap.

"He doesn't deserve you, Bucky. If he's cheating on you, that's his loss. I agree with your friend Natasha on that."

Bucky wiped his face with his coat sleeves. He fucking hated crying.

"Do you know where you're going to go after tonight?"

"My sister lives in DC. I think I'll go stay with her for a while, until a divorce goes through," he sighed.

"Will you be safe there—?"

"This is your stop," the cap driver grunted loudly, and the car came to an abrupt halt. Bucky and Steve exited the cab quickly, and as Steve paid, Bucky looked up at the hotel Sam was staying in.

"Holy fucking shit. You're joking. How'd he get a room here?"

Steve shrugged as he shifted his trumpet again, and held out his arm for Bucky. Taking it gladly, he was led inside the lobby. The lobby was empty at this hour, and the woman at the desk gave them a bored look as they made their way to the elevator. Steve pressed a button on an uppermost level (Of course, Bucky thought vindictively). The entire hotel was furnished modernly. Then again, the proprietor was known for his flair for the new and exciting. The carpet on the hallway outside Sam's room was a soft champagne color, and Bucky too was distracted by the gorgeous painting of a woman at the end of the hall to notice Steve whistling to him from the open room door.

"Comin', princess?"

Bucky laughed, and entered the room.

He tried not to gasp. He honestly did. But when someone is presented with a view as magnificent as the New York skyline from this high up at night, a gasp is inevitable. Lights were just blurred orbs in the distance, and buildings silhouetted each other against the black water of the Long Island Sound.

"It's amazing," Bucky said as he stepped up to the window, in complete awe to the view set before him.

"Yeah," Steve sighed from somewhere behind him, picking up a phone. Bucky heard a dial tone as he punched in a number. Steve covered the receiver. "You can take a shower if you want, I'm going to set an alarm."

Bucky nodded in appreciation towards Steve sitting on the large king bed. Bucky was worried about that bed. Undoubtedly, Steve would offer to let him sleep on it and take the comfortable looking chair in the corner, but neither man wanted the other to take the chair and be kicked out of the bed. Bucky would have to offer to take another room. This was more complicated than he thought. As he undressed in the privacy of the bathroom, he heard Steve calling a wake up call. At least that was a good thing.

The shower was a luxury after the hell of the past few days. Bucky felt free enough to shed the remaining tears over his marriage in the steam as he combed shampoo through his hair and washed his skin. He hadn't expected to take a shower until he got to Becca's house in DC. He was immensely thankful, to Sam and Steve.

He thought about Steve as he dried himself off. He heard his gruff laugh in the room over. Steve was a strange man. He had started out the night as a complete stranger, and now, they were trading banter like best friends. It was bizarre how one person could know you so well without ever really knowing you. He felt that way with him. Hell, he didn't even know Steve's last name. He could sum up his knowledge of the guy on one hand. But he felt a bond to him. He was a friend. This was a night he wouldn't forget for a lot of reasons, but Steve was definitely the biggest and best of those reasons. Bucky had never met someone more willing to help just for the sake of helping than Steve. It fit him well.

Bucky pulled on his underwear and one of the expensive looking white bathrobes. After tying it around his waist, he pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and folded his clothes.

"Hey, what's your last name?" Bucky asked as he went back in the large room.

"Rogers," Steve said as he shuffled past Bucky into the bathroom. He laughed at the bathrobe.

Bucky walked over to the large glass windows again, starting helplessly outside. He was a slave to the view. It wasn't every day you were stuck in a city like this. It wasn't every day you got a view like this either.

"Thank you, Stark Towers," he whispered, dragging his fingers along the glass. He heard Steve singing in the shower. Jesus, was he one of those? That was fucking cute.

No. That wasn't cute. Bucky couldn't afford to think of him like that, not after everything he had done for him. Steve—Steve Rogers—was a solid man of 34 who, bisexual though he may be, was not an option. And Bucky was still technically married. Bucky groaned and hit his head on the windowpane, the water to the shower shutting off simultaneously. At least this would be over soon before it got worse.

It got much worse. Steve emerged from the steaming bathroom wearing a fucking white bathrobe. Bucky stood motionless, and avoided eye contact. This was not happening.

"You can sleep on the bed—"

"You can sleep—"

"You go first."

"No, you!"

They both laughed, and relaxed a bit as they stood, shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the expanse of New York City. Steve crossed his arms. His hair was wet. Shit, his hair was dirty blonde, cropped short, and it didn't just look wet, it looked sweat slicked—

"I insist. You helped me with Peggy. Take it, Bucky." Steve gave him a dazzling smile that reached his eyes.

Bucky jolted, coughing. As long as he didn't look that man in the eyes, he was home free. He could do this.

"Is a bathrobe standard uniform for ex military, Rogers?" God dammit.

"Do you still love him?"

Bucky looked at his eyes. He was a goner.

Steve reached his hand up to cup Bucky's jaw, and brought their lips slowly together. Bucky was caught completely off guard, and stood motionless as Steve's lips brushed over his. Steve pulled his head back, still cupping Bucky's jaw and resting his forehead.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

Bucky moved his arm to rest it on Steve's chest. He used his other arm to pull Steve's neck and kiss him again, slipping his tongue inside his mouth this time, relishing the warm feeling. Steve moved his free arm to the small of Bucky's back and opened his mouth wider, giving the other more direct access to what he wanted. Bucky pulled away, rubbing Steve's chest, both men breathing heavily.

"I—I can't..."

"I know. I'm sorry." Steve smiled. "At least we waited?" Steve started to back away but Bucky pulled him back, linking their hands together.

"I'm very attracted to you, Steve. I'm just still married," Bucky said, groaned. "Maybe... maybe if things were different."

"No, I get that. Completely," Steve sighed, his thumb rubbing Bucky's hand. He looked at the bed. "I want you to have it."

"We can share it. Not—not like that. I just want this for a little longer."

They removed the covers and fluffed the pillows. Bucky, being slightly smaller, got under the covers first, followed by the larger and much warmer Steve. Steve asked if it was alright to cuddle up to him. Bucky was trying not to blush and failing. They ended up in the dark room at 4:30 AM curled around each other, holding hands under the covers. Bucky was gazing at this kind, wonderful man who had been put into his life by chance, this stranger who was in his bed. He began to laugh and Steve tucked the hair out of Bucky's eyes lazily.

"What? Do I look funny?"

"No, I'm just—I think we were meant to meet."

"Aw, don't get sappy on me now, Buck."

"No, no, listen! I think we were meant to meet at Grand Central, Steve."

A pause.

"And why's that?"

"Have you ever had that feeling where you meet someone... and you just know that it's for a reason? That that person would change your life? That you just know, somewhere in your gut, that the person in front of you was going to change everything? I think that's what this is. I think that's who you are, Steve Rogers."

Steve continued to breathe slowly and rub Bucky's side. After a long pause, he spoke.

"I think… I think you're… that person to me, too."

They fell asleep in a tangle of limbs and unspoken words. Bucky found a soft comfort in the other man's slow breathing. The air around them was thick with emotion but nothing was going to be said, and it was almost better that way. It left things uncomplicated. Bucky didn't like complicated. Steve pulled Bucky closer through the few hours they had left and wrapped his arms around him like a protective cage, his mouth at his nape as he slept. Bucky clasped their hands together, focusing on Steve's breathing as they rested.

They received their wake up call at 5:30. The men washed, dressed, went to the lobby, and called a cab to take them to Grand Central. Bucky would use his ticket to get to JFK and buy a plane ride to DC. He called his sister before they left the room, letting her know the situation. Throughout the entire routine, Bucky couldn't help but feel like a great adventure was coming to an end.

In the cab, they were silent as they held hands. Bucky looked out the window at the passing blur of the city and tried not to think about Brock back at his house, raging. A divorce wasn't going to be easy to get him to agree to. But his marriage was over, that was for sure.

Steve kept rubbing his thumb over Bucky's. They hadn't spoken of goodbyes in the hotel. Bucky wasn't sure what the protocol for a goodbye like this even was.

As they walked through the station entrance, Steve grew anxious. He gripped Bucky's hand with an urgency, and Bucky tried not to notice. He pulled them forward, crowding people around them, off on their own adventures. Bucky pulled Steve along, both anxious and unwilling to finish theirs.

As they passed through Hall C to rails 11-21, Bucky's destination, they passed a payphone. Steve halted, yanking Bucky back with him. Bucky gave him an exasperated look.

"Steve..."

Steve slapped the top of the machine like he had the night before. He typed in random numbers animatedly, with a goofy grin on his face. Bucky walked closer, drawn to this man. Steve maintained eye contact as he picked up the phone and said, "I'm going to use my call now."

He took a deep breath, and began.

"Steve. It's you from the future." He smiled as he said this. "Idiot, he believed it," he mouthed, and continued. "Listen, I want to give you some advice. You're gonna be playing one night... Grand Central... thinking of every reason in the world to not go see the girl that broke your heart. Then you're gonna meet somebody. And now at first, he's gonna seem... icy. You're gonna know right away he's trouble. He's gonna take all your money. You're probably gonna get punched in the face." Bucky gave a watery laugh at that. He was tearing up. "But, uh... stay with him. You're gonna need him a lot more than he needs you. And at the end of the night, you're gonna want to say some things, but don't. Don't ruin it. It's nothing he doesn't already know. Just give him a kiss. Wish him good luck. And, uh... thank him. Thank him for showing you that you can love more than one person in this life."

Steve was still looking intently at Bucky as he hung up the phone. Bucky could feel tears coming. He tried to blink them away as Steve brushed his cheek. He let out a dry sob.

They kissed with an air of finality and desperation. Steve pulled Bucky close to him, his lips soft and wanting. Bucky snaked his arms around Steve's neck, putting his hands in his hair, pulling and playing with it in the final few moments they would share. Bucky's eyes were wet when they pulled apart.

"Good luck," Steve whispered, and he let Bucky go.

Bucky wiped his eyes and walked down Hall C for the second time in twenty four hours. He boarded his train this time, bound for JFK. He would be in DC by the end of the day, if all went to plan. He sat down in his seat, and stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, brushing over something that shouldn't be there. He pulled out a hotel survey card, filled out in Steve's handwriting.

 

Were you satisfied with your stay?

[x] YES  [] NO  [] MAYBE

 

Bucky put his hand over his mouth as his eyes scanned the slip. He hadn't even considered those stupid survey slips before, but this was sweet.

 

Was your room to your satisfaction?

[x] YES  [] NO  [] MAYBE

 

Were our cleaning services to your satisfaction?

[] BELOW AVERAGE  [] SATISFACTORY  [x] MUCH IMPROVED

 

Would you return?

[] YES  [] NO  [] MAYBE

 

Bucky faltered as he read that. He didn't think that was an option. It wasn't, was it? At the bottom was written 'flip over' in Steve's scrawl, and on the back was something that made Bucky's face light up like it hadn't in a very long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://professorxaviier.tumblr.com/).


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